Doing Time
by J0j2
Summary: Prompt: What if the Master hadn't been shot and died after the 'Last of the timelords'. "You're just going to...keep me?" Varies from funny to dark. 10th Doctor/Simm!Master, slight slash, First Doctor Who fic, please R&R!
1. To Serve

Prompt: What if the Master hadn't been shot and died after the 'Last of the timelords?'

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><p>"You're just going to…<em>keep me?<em>" The Master spat out the words in horror. He did not at all want to be the Doctor's pet for all eternity. There was no being he thought he hated more than The Doctor. The Doctor that knew him so well it made him scream – he was the Master, not a slave!

"If that's what I have to do." He responded quietly, looking him up and down, "Now I have someone to care for." His brown eyes were laced by a tender sort of compassion.

"No…" He said, shaking his head. "No, I absolutely refuse!" He cried in protest, watching the Doctor come closer and closer to him. He backed away. "Get away from me!" He tried to kick at him awkwardly, but he fell back onto his rear without his hands to balance him while he tore his eyes away from anyone, knowing he looked foolish.

The Doctor squatted down next to him and tried to lift him up by his waist. The Master did not comply and shifted into a deadweight, becoming as heavy as possible. Unfortunately, he underestimated the strength of the other Time Lord, and was forced into standing, leaning against him, but standing nonetheless.

Getting him into the TARDIS proved to be an even harder task. He literally had to be dragged through the doors by his blazer. _You might have me, Doctor, _he thought, _but don't think I won't put up a fight._

The Doctor had to be helped by a couple others in order to finally get him into the TARDIS and in his 'room'. It wasn't really a room. It was a cell, classic crisscrossed metal bars however well lit and cushy looking. There was a somewhat comfortable looking bed with a white sheet and floral patterned cover, carpeted floor and a slate coming out of the wall that could be used as a desk. The Master grimaced as he looked at it and was thrown in, onto the ground by The Doctor's assistants.

"Careful! We don't want to harm him." The Doctor chided, closing the cell door behind him.

"I couldn't care less if he got a scratch on his poor arm after this year!" Martha laughed bitterly.

The Doctor didn't try to defend him this time.

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><p>It was later that evening that The Doctor came with a bowl of soup to the cell's door. He looked down at it on his way there. It was, for a very specific reason, going to be The Master's first dinner here. Not fish, not chicken, but soup. Tomato soup. He stood at the gate-like door, pulled out his sonic screwdriver and opened the door.<p>

The Master turned around, startled. "Good evening, Master." The Doctor greeted him. He only scowled at him, thinking about how that the Doctor now held the cards, he hated the name he had chosen. When the doctor said it before it sounded so sweet, when he felt in control. Now it only seemed like a cruel, mocking joke. Just one more reason to loathe him, he thought.

He was sitting on the ground, in a strange position with his hands behind his back. "Leave." He growled, trying to send as much revulsion as he could muster into one word. He didn't succeed in getting the Doctor to exit. His sworn enemy only smiled at him softly as he sat down next to him after putting the soup on the table. "Get away from me..."

"Shhh." The Doctor said, trying to sound comforting, approaching him. This only led to more anger.

Gracelessly, the Master scuttled away, trying to put distance between them. He gave the Doctor a look of absolute revulsion, but the other time lord responded without anger or hate, just a neutral facial expression. "Master," he began. For a second, something flashed through the his eyes. Surprise at the use of his name? ''I want you to know that I don't think of you as a lesser being."

"Oh really?" He pounced, leaning forward towards him, "Then I suppose that's why you've got me locked up in a cage, hands tied like a trapped animal?"

The Doctor smiled sadly. "You put me in a cage, Master. Remember? It was only a few hours ago."

"I am The Master, not a slave, Doctor."

"And you won't be treated as one. I don't look down on you now that you are in my captivity." The Doctor sat down near the man who wouldn't believe him. "I'm only doing this for the safety of the universe. You can't be trusted."

"The least you could do is take off these cuffs!" he cried in anger.

"No, I can't." _Not yet, _The Doctor added silently. "I don't want you to be living here and detest me, although I know I can't change that."

The Master smirked. There. That was something he could control…he did not have to give in to this treatment. He did not have to be obedient. He did not have to like the Doctor. He could rebel however he liked. He needed something to hold on to, something in his hands to be in charge of. He did not have to comply with anything the Doctor said.

"It is dinner time though." The Doctor sighed at the ceiling and then turned to the Master. "Soup."

"Unlock these so I can eat, then." The soft jingle of the handcuffs rattled in the stall.

"No, I can't do that." He chucked a little, "You'd probably strangle me. I don't want to get in a fistfight with _you_."

"Then how am I supposed to eat it?"

"Well," the doctor began, "I can feed it to you."

"What?" The Master recoiled and was now leaning against the farthest wall. "You'll do no such thing! You said you didn't think of me as a lesser being, but I have to beg for food from you?"

The Doctor smiled inwardly very faintly. "No, that wasn't what I had in mind. I would be serving you, Master." He paid careful attention to his reaction. His lower lip twitched in revulsion, but the Doctor saw something else in his dark brown eyes the second he had considered what he had said. But it was gone in an instant.

"I'd rather drink like a dog than be served by the likes of you, _Doctor_." His face turned away from the Doctor's.

The Doctor tried to look hurt on purpose and hoped he didn't 'over-react' to the Master's comment. "I'd hate to see you like that, but, if it's what you wish." He shrugged and got up to take the bowl from the table top. He brought it down carefully, still steaming in a bowl atop a saucer. There was a spoon next to it, but the Doctor carefully removed it and put it on the table top. "You won't be needing that."

The Master grunted, irritated, as a response.

Biting his lower lip, the Doctor tried desperately to conceal a look of pity. How he wanted to take off the Master's handcuffs, feeling bad that he had to eat in a such an…animal like manner. But then he remembered, -as much as it hurt him to feel anger at the Master-, how he'd kept him for a year that had never happened, so very helpless. Now, the Doctor would keep him – someone to look after.

The Master began to bend down and immediately came back up. "May I have some privacy, or do I not _deserve_ that?"

"I'll leave." Then he took notice of the tie. It was still wound around his neck and would probably get in the soup. "Wait…" the Doctor got up and sat down next to him. The Master pulled away. Gently, he reached and took the black silk tie, carefully undid the knot with the light hands of a surgeon, the Doctor he was. He felt the back of his captive's neck as he pulled it off, the Master feeling the soft touch.

For a second he had the urge to let him serve him. Tell him, 'take the spoon and feed me like the god I am!'. That he deserved to be served as such – but the one thing he had control over was his reactions. He would not do what the Doctor had in mind. How he longed for some control…

There was a moment of silence between them. "Do you want me to leave this here?" he held the tie up.

"Take it." He commanded the Doctor.

Without another word, the Doctor pulled out his screwdriver, went out the door and locked it behind him. He didn't look back, although he felt the tie in his hands and noted how warm it was. It was nice, to have someone to go to at night, regardless of how much his guest despised him. The Master was truly the only other equal he had in the universe. They were the last two. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have this much patience for someone who hated him so. But the Master was the only other who he could understand, who could understand him. No matter how many humans he surrounded himself with, however intelligent they were, they weren't his same kind. They could never understand him the way that the Master could and did.

He'd been wandering for too long, he needed someone. Someone to be with, and there was no one he'd rather care for.

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><p>Well, how'd you like it so far? (will be publishing a few more chapters). I'm sorry, this is my first Doctor Who fic, I don't know the characters extremely well which is why I'm sorry for how OOC this is. Critiques are really helpful, thanks! Please review.<p> 


	2. To Dine

The Doctor woke, his sheets a tangled mess, his hair more haphazard than usual. He had had both nightmares and lovely dreams. He dreamt of the pain the Master had so cruelly made him endure, aging him faster than was beyond natural. He dreamt of how lonely he was; the last of a species. But he dreamt about how wonderful it was to be near the Master. To know he was here, another being who he could relate to more than any other living life form in the universe, another time lord.

He sat up and hugged his pillow. He thought about the master, what he knew about him. He liked to feel in control and would go to any lengths to have that sensation. Even wage war on the universe – still, the Doctor would forgive him. He would not forgive him for the hundreds of thousands of deaths, the people he killed, but he would forgive him for the madness he could not control.

His eyes floated to the alarm clock. It was early, The Master probably wasn't awake yet. The Doctor shrugged to himself and walked down the hallway in his night clothes, barefoot. He came upon the Master's room, and found he was right. Curled up in a corner, he lay in a seemingly uncomfortable position, hands behind his back. Tomato soup was all over his face and the shoulders of his shirt as an attempt to wipe it off.

Quickly and quietly, the Doctor went back to his room and took the screwdriver and a damp washcloth, came back to the Master's domain and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and shut it behind him. Kneeling down carefully, he pulled the Master into his arms, cradling his sleeping body, and took the washcloth, gingerly cleaning his face of the tomato's red stain.

Halfway through, the Master's eyes shot open and his body followed suit, jumping at the awakening. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Just cleaning you up." The Doctor replied simply, still dabbing the white fabric across his mouth and cheeks. "You made quite a mess."

"Get off of me," he tried to struggle away, but The Doctor had him firmly down. Everything was more difficult without arms.

"You're my responsibility, Master, and as long as you're here in my house, it's not considered proper to go around with tomato all over your facial features."

The Master didn't really know how to respond, so his reaction was anger. "Put me down, I'm not a child!"

"You sure are acting like one." He removed the cloth from his face, "There we are. Like a proper gentleman." He gave the Master a smile. He clenched his teeth and gave him an extremely intimidating glare. Or at least it would have been if he wasn't glaring at the Doctor. Any human would quake – the Doctor just laughed. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"If you make me eat it like a dog, then no."

"You chose to eat like that. I would have served you, but you didn't want me to."

The breath caught in The Master's throat as he pursed his lips together. He hated it when he was check mated in a game of verbal warfare. The Doctor persisted in asking, "Do you want breakfast?" He didn't respond. "Well I'm bringing it anyway. You can eat it in whatever manner you like."

The Doctor got up and looked back at the Master. He looked very uncomfortable. He went back over to him, and despite the protest by the helpless man, eventually, he was on the bed instead of lying on the floor. "Isn't this better?"

Again, the Master didn't respond, and as the night before, the Doctor exited the cell.

He sat down next to the Master with a bowl of oatmeal.

"You expect me to eat that?" The Master stared at it disdainfully.

"Yes, I do." He spooned a bit of it as held it to the Master who was now sitting up in bed. "Open wide."

"Well then you're just as crazy as I am." He attempted to spit into the oatmeal, saliva sputtering all over.

"That's disgusting, Master. You're just spitting into your own food." He took the napkin that rested on the side of the plate and wiped off his other hand.

"I'm not eating it."

"If you'd like to go hungry, do so."

"Fetch me something else." The Master demanded. "I'm not eating that mush."

"If you want to eat, this is what you'll be eating." The Doctor's patience was infinite which just made him angrier.

"No. Fetch me something else."

"I'm not going to go get you another meal. You'll find that this actually tastes quite fine."

"Then I won't eat." The Master remained stubborn.

"Suit yourself." The Doctor place the oatmeal on the table, turned and was about to leave the area, when he heard the Master speak up.

"Will you unlock these cuffs, Doctor?" he yelled after him.

"Nope!" The Doctor called back, going back to the kitchen to fix something for himself. Probably some bacon. If there was one thing he loved the humans for, it was bacon.

Again, I say I have no idea if the Doctor actually likes bacon. I apologize, as I have not watched nearly enough Doctor Who for it to make it okay that I'm writing a fanfiction. Reviews are really appreciated. Thanks.


	3. To Brood

It was only an hour and a half before the Doctor returned to the door of the cell and came inside. "You're back." The Master scowled, looking into the eyes of his enemy. He sat on top of the table.

"It would appear so." He replied, giving a small, happy grin. "You've moved."

"That bed's not good enough for me."

"It's not?" The Doctor looked a little hurt. "You need another pillow or something? I have plenty."

"It's not the pillows, you idiot!" He cried. "It's the whole damn bed."

"Hey, woah, woah. No swearing in here, Master-"

"Damn it bloody god damn brutish shitting hell-"

"Enough!" The Doctor yelled over the stream of curses, his voice reverberating on the walls. The Master stopped, and for the first time since he was imprisoned, _smiled_. The Doctor raised his eyebrows in dismay and turned his head one way, eyes trained on the master – and smiled back.

The impish grin vanished on the Master's face as soon as it had come.

"Why are you so cranky, Master?" he asked innocently.

"Because I'm tied up like a pet monkey without food or water and you just treat me like a trapped animal!" The Master screamed, his voice cracked on the last syllable, much to his shock and embarrassment that he only concealed with more brooding.

"Oh that's it. You're hungry, aren't you?" The Master seethed in the Doctor's direction as he came closer. "Well mate, I'll go get something. But you have to actually eat this time. I'm not letting more food go to waste because of you. You only ate a little more than nothing of the tomato soup and none of the oatmeal. Don't make me throw _this _out please."

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><p>The Doctor came back with another bowl to the Master's dismay. "Don't you have <em>anything <em>else other than liquid or goo, Doctor? The TARDIS is big enough for something more."

"Sure I do! Smoked cheese, roasted turkey, scungelli, cake, bananas, fish sticks, custard, you name it." The Master groaned, he hated how upbeat he could be, his pathetic voice ringing in his ears, accompanying the drums. "But, I _brought_ mashed potatoes."

"I won't have them."

"You need to eat and I _will_ serve them to you one spoonful at a time. I won't have you eat like an undignified pig, Master. Don't pretend you're not hungry."

"I won't eat them."

"_I _won't have you starve to death." The doctor sat down next to him on the table.

"I'll starve if I like, better than an eternity with _you_."

The Doctor sighed and took a small spoonful of the mashed potatoes. "Open up."

"No."

"It tastes fine."

"I couldn't care less."

"I won't think any less of you if you choose to eat, Master."

"I don't care what you think of me."

"It's obviously a pride issue though." The Doctor could tell he hit something with that. "Who do you think is going to think less of you?"

"I don't care what anyone thinks of me!" He sputtered, glaring deep into the Doctor's eyes. "You will leave."

"I'll do no such thing while you're still hungry!"

"You will leave!"

"You're hypnosis isn't going to work, Master." He sighed, getting slightly annoyed. "Open up."

"Kneel down before me." The Master commanded. The Doctor just chuckled in response.

"Master, we are equals here. I will not kneel to feed you."

"Then I won't be fed!"

They sat there for a whole half an hour, neither exchanging words with the other until a very sly grin hid under the Doctor's facial features, taking intense effort to be concealed. Using a technique he'd picked up long ago that was far from mastered, he started making a strange noise. "Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…" he whispered, throwing his voice, getting louder and louder. The Master looked at him in confusion and revulsion as the weird noises got louder and louder, "Choo-choo!"

There, on the side of a cell, sat one man looking absolutely annoyed and horrified, another making train noises enthusiastically. The Doctor let the grin smother his face as he took the spoonful of mashed potatoes. "Here comes the train!" he said excitedly, pushing the spoon up to the Master's lips.

The Master wanted to smack his forehead. Or smack the Doctor upside the head - again and again and again as painfully as physically possible. This dream was made impossible by the cuffs that kept him bound. "Get away from-"

Without warning, the Doctor shoved the spoon into the Master's mouth as carefully as one could shove a spoon into another's mouth. The Master bit down and the Doctor removed it from his mouth. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Those were the words the Doctor said before a wad of slimy mashed potatoes came flying his way and landed right on his nice collared shirt. He wanted to cry out, 'What in bloody hell is wrong with you?' but then realized that with him, that would not be the right reaction. Instead, he just laughed. The Master turned away, muttering.

"What's that, Master? You think I'm a _what_?" The Doctor was 'taken aback' exuberantly.

"A bloody waste of my time!"

"What else wouldyou be doing?"

"Not putting up with an imbecile like you!"

"I suppose you're right. You would not be in the same room with me if I weren't here… and I definitely am an imbecile, so, you're correct!" The Doctor beamed at his star pupil.

"Aaarg!" The Master let out a noise that probably wasn't spelled that way, but was spelled so simply for characteristic emphasis.

"I'll take these potatoes with me if you don't mind." The Doctor harrumphed before turning back around faux cautiously, "Tea?"

He was returned only with a death stare.

"Wonderful! I'll be right back." And left the cell.

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><p>Alrighty! This is coming along rather nicely. Thanks for the nice comments! Special thanks to mericat, who gave the greatest review. The more relevant information you can give me about the characters the better. Critiques, thoughts and comments welcome. Ah, I love these two characters. Thanks so much for reviewing!<p> 


	4. To Cry

The rest of the day was just the Doctor going there and back to check on the Master. When the Doctor had offered him tea after the potato incident, he came back with a tea cup, steaming hot. Seeing that the Master obviously couldn't pick it up and drink from it, he came up with the solution of a straw. It was a bendy straw that he'd found on earth. It was funny, with a little monkey head on it. He'd just had to buy it, novelties were one of the many things he liked to distract himself with.

Before coming back that night with dinner, he decided he would just leave the vegetable soup and spoon there and see if the Master said anything. "What, no insipid comments tonight, Doctor?"

"No." He replied simply.

"Great, just the way I like you. Pity you don't shut up nearly enough."

The Doctor didn't reply nor did his neutral facial expression falter.

"By the way, I broke your straw." He grinned and nodded to the shattered remains of a pink and green monkey straw.

He sighed in annoyance, but he'd expected it. It was gnawed on and one of the parts had probably broken from the stress. "You could have used it for the soup tonight."

"Me? Drink out of that? You must be as crazy as I am, Doctor." The Master laughed and then his face returned to a snobby set, like a child saying 'I don't wanna'. "Besides, I'm not hungry."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now stop bothering me with your infernal questions."

The Doctor wanted to say some type of comeback, but decided to let it lie. He left the room, lips curved upwards in the slightest way.

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><p>It was much later that night at about one in the morning earth time when the Doctor was jolted awake by a horrible, loud noise. It was far away, somewhere else in the TARDIS and it took a moment for him to gather his wits and identify it as moaning or yelling…or sobbing. No, definitely not sobbing. The only other person in the TARDIS was the Master. That was crazy. Or…maybe not.<p>

Light on his feet, head swimming from the rude awakening, the Doctor rushed through the halls. It became louder and louder as he approached the room. The lights in the halls were very dim, and when he looked in through the bars and saw the Master sprawled on his side facing the wall, shaking, he felt the breath catch in his throat.

Fumbling with the screwdriver, he unlocked the door and flew inside. Kneeling next to the incomprehensibly loud man, he gathered him up in his arms. He was sobbing in short bursts and got quieter when the Doctor held him close. He was asleep, his eyes weren't opened, just pain all across his face.

He wrapped his arms around his lower back and neck, pulling him tighter to him, trying to soothe him. "Shhh," he whispered, "It's okay." He caressed his tear stained face, trying to wipe off the salty drops.

Inside the Doctor's head it was a fury of mixed emotions. Confusion, fear and affection all at once. Why was the Master sobbing like this? What could possibly scare a madman this much? This poor man, his poor friend. His beloved friend who he would forgive and forgive.

"The Drums…" The Master both hissed and wept, "Make them stop! Make them stop…" the rest was muffled in the Doctor's nightgown sleeve.

It felt so right to have him in his arms, it was more reassuring himself than the Master he was sure. He'd been alone so long and humans never fit the part he needed. He needed another Gallifreyan, another Time Lord. Relief made its way into the embrace. "It's okay, Master, I'm here." He spoke softly. "You're here with me."

One pair of eyes shot open. Out of breath from having been screaming his throat out just the second earlier, the Master cried, "What in bloody blazes are you doing?" trying to pull away.

The Doctor didn't let him go, although released him enough to be face to face with him. "You were in here crying your eyes out." He said quietly, without jibe.

"How dare you make up such a lie!"

"I'm not lying, Master. I'm sure you can taste the tears on your face, isn't your throat burning?" The Doctor continued to use his comforting, calm voice.

The Master didn't respond for a second, wanting to deny it when the proof was there on his cheeks. "You shouldn't have come in here. Why do you even care?"

"Because I don't like to see you in pain." He pulled him in, the Master's face over his left shoulder. The Master felt surprised at how soft the Doctor was. He thought he'd be all sharp edges, he looked like just skin plastered on bones. The Doctor never had an ounce of fat on this regeneration, too skinny. But the edges smoothed out and became yielding. Despite the texture of the man, he still would show he despised him, sticking to that truth instead of any other possible alternatives.

"Funny, I like to see _you _in pain." The Master laughed, trying to sound triumphant, but it just came out sadly, choking on the bitter words. "They're so loud, Doctor," he whispered in a foreboding, urgent way. "Why can't you hear them? How I wish you could hear them."

"Hear what?"

"The drums." He swallowed, breathing heavily, "The drums, Doctor! They're so loud!" He yelled, furiously into the darkness, feeling the Doctor squeeze him tighter. He knew he wanted to lean into the embrace, let his muscles relax, but still remained tense, ashamed at the thought. "Let go of me." He said more weakly than he'd hoped. When he didn't get a reaction, he repeated himself, louder this time. "Let go of-"

He was interrupted by a loud rumbling for which he stopped talking. It was his own stomach, betraying him. The Master cursed without sound, feeling his body relax against his own will. His tiredness and hunger were enough to bribe his body, despite his wishes. The Doctor hugged him quickly and put him down, the Master falling over himself to recoil to the corner.

He got up and took the bowl of soup. It was lukewarm. Bringing it over carefully (noting it was untouched,) he put it down and took a spoonful of it. Carefully, he lifted it to the Master's lips and, to his relief and surprise, the Master opened his mouth.

Scoop after scoop, the Master took it, never making eye contact with the Doctor. He looked up, above them. They both kneeled in the darkness. The Master used every ounce of control he could so not to slurp or act over eager to swallow. He would not lose his dignity, however pathetic he felt. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he enjoyed this. Oh how he enjoyed this, the Doctor serving him. The Doctor serving his Master.

Soon the bowl was empty and the Master leaned back and rested against the wall. "I forgive you, you know."

The Master's solemn face dwindled away into a smirk. "I could blow up the universe and beat you to a bloody pulp and you'd forgive me." He snickered cruelly.

"That's true." The Doctor admitted.

"You're pathetic."

"You might be right."

They paused for a minute. "Now tell me the real reason you came in here." The Master asked without asking.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. You were waking all hell." The Doctor turned to him, shadows of real worry dressing his face, "Are you okay?"

"No, I've fallen ill with a deadly plague and now I need you to spoon me cold soup out of insufferably tacky china bowls." His voice was laced with brutal sarcasm.

"Well I don't think they're _that _tacky. We can go shopping later, if you'd like."

"And while we're at it, let's get you a monkey suit – oh wait, you already wear one every day."

"Says the man with the black blazer and tie." From impulse alone, the Doctor leaned over and mussed the Master's hair.

The air went stone cold silent.

"Don't ever touch me or my hair. Ever." He fumed in a deadly tone.

However much it was a terrible idea, the Doctor reached over - and mussed it again.

"I will eat your hide!" The Master screamed in his loudest voice. In an almost childlike manner, the Doctor giggled, got up and ran to the other side of the bed. He'd had this coming, yet he couldn't resist. The Master dashed after him in an extremely comical way, hands behind his back. He chased him into the corner the bed was near, and the Doctor leapt over the bed. The Master followed, but fell flat on his stomach on the bed, desperately trying to wriggle around.

The Doctor waited patiently, watching him struggle, come back around and then dart to the other side of the bed, cornering him. "You've got me."

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><p>Alright, I'm stopping here because I'm afraid I'm going to go off an end that will be so out of character (as if this chapter wasn't already bad) I won't be able to get back in. SO PLEASE: tell me how OOC this was, if you want this story to just be cute or be slash and any critiques or criticisms. Thanks! Please review!<p> 


	5. To Hate

They stood in the dim lit cell, The Doctor cornered and grinning, The Master giving him a look of rage to end all the worlds. It was a moment of silence, of anticipation.

And then the Master leaned in and kissed him.

He leaned into him, almost collapsing on him if not for his back foot keeping him steady. The Doctor went almost flat against the wall, taken by surprise. Their lips were made for each others'. Polar opposites that fit like pieces of a puzzle. The Doctor's soft and innocent, the Master's ferocious and furious.

The Master pulled back, jerking himself away. Then, he dove forward, smashing himself into the Doctor's ribcage. He coughed as they tumbled over each other on to the floor. The Doctor regained himself and swept the Master, hands still tied behind his back, up into his arms.

"I hate you. I despise you." The Master breathed into his ear, the warm air sending tingles through the Doctor. "You destroyed Gallifrey. I will never forgive you."

The Master felt something vibrate through the Doctor. Maybe it was the guilt of killing an entire race, reverberating as an evil chill down his body. There was no place he would rather be than in the arms of his greatest enemy as he inflicted gentle, searing, stinging agony on him. To feel the shame that plagued his nemesis was like a narcotic.

The Doctor pulled him in closer, clutching his white collared shirt. A sound, the softest sound in the span of the universe, was let out, here in the cell of the TARDIS. It was like a the whimpering of a puppy that had been kicked one too many times, the strangled sound of hot tears being caught in a man's throat as he began to weep. He sat, silently crying into the shirt of the Master who allowed an evil, thin, tiny smile to cross his face.

He allowed a hand to venture up behind the Master's ears and he gently caressed the hair on the back of his neck, taking comfort in its softness. The Master relaxed in the Doctor's grasp, allowing himself to absorb the pain the Doctor felt. One two three four. One two three four. The Doctor's heartbeat. One two three four. The drums. Which each breath he took they became louder and louder and the smile on his face turned into a grimace.

He screamed as they became unbearable. "Make them stop!"

"You're so needy…" The Doctor whispered through tears of his own. "Why do you hate me? I would love to love you…"

"Make them stop." He grinded his teeth together, squeezing his eyes shut.

His face wet, the Doctor lifted him up and put him on the bed, gently tucking him under the covers. He bent down over him and softly stroked the side of his face, warped in an expression of unfathomable pain. "I'll be right back."

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><p>Sorry for how short that was and I hope that wasn't too bad or too confusing. A lot of pain, a lot of catharsis. In character? Did I make it too serious? Reviews please!<p> 


	6. To Sleep

In the kitchen of the TARDIS, the Doctor gathered himself up. _The Master…kissed me. _He felt his face flush with the recent memory of his evil counterpart's lips against his own. They tasted faintly of vegetable soup. No matter how much the Master would say he despised the Doctor, he knew that, deep down, the Master didn't hate him. But they were opposites. He knew that the Master didn't hate him, but would without a doubt go to the ends of the earth to break him.

It wasn't never hate, he thought, just anger and madness. And through that madness, the Doctor would tend and tend to him, never leaving his side. He loved the sensation of having some purpose, of having someone to care for. He only wished the Master would let him, maybe tonight it would all change. Or maybe in the morning it would just go back to the way it had always been. I hoped it wouldn't.

A dark blue mug steamed warm tendrils into the chilly air. The Master didn't notice, his eyes were shut, engulfed in his own agony. The Doctor rushed in, holding the mug so not to spill it. There was a spoon in it that clanked annoyingly along the sides. He carefully pushed himself on to the bed beside the other time lord, and propped him up so he sat upright.

The Master's face was dancing with pain, he almost seemed to glow with a dark purple, the color of absolute agony. "Sit up, open wide."

He winced at either the ache or being told what to do (for all we know, it probably was both). He didn't follow the instructions, not even in this time of need. The Doctor pulled him up and had him leaning against his shoulder. He took a spoonful of the warm milk and lifted it to the Master's lips. "Come on, open up."

The Master gently sipped it. When the spoon was empty, the Doctor placed it back in the cup. He took his left hand and gingerly stroked the side of his tense cheek which loosened the slightest bit to the touch.

It was true catharsis for the Doctor. More so than for the Master he was sure, but it felt almost therapeutic, being here with his Master. For so long he would remember lying in his bed, sharp spikes of intense loneliness, the feeling of an empty soul. Now he had his Master, as he gave him warm milk to calm him.

Looking at his face, the Doctor thought about how this regeneration didn't suit him. Harold Saxon wasn't very tall, nor very large. No one could ever guess that this man would try to (and succeed in) enslaving an entire planet for a year. He looked too innocent. Too childish. But he did still like this new regeneration. In fact, he really liked his new regeneration. He didn't look evil or scary except when he felt evil or scary. He was just the little Master.

When the mug was empty, the Doctor put it gently on the floor. Tenderly, he draped an arm around the Master's back as they waited for the morning, falling in and out of sleep, in and out of pains of loneliness and insanity.

* * *

><p>Alright, I'll try to get this story back to being more light hearted; it's getting more intense than I'd hoped. What do you think so far? Sorry for the recent, quick little chapters. They'll get longer soon.<p> 


	7. To Awake

The Master violently squirmed out of the Doctor's warm touch, the chill of the Tardis in the morning greeting him coldly in a characteristic manner. He turned on his side away from the Doctor, the sheets yielding. The Doctor wasn't really awake, although the Master thought he had woken him. Oh well, he could still do this;

And promptly shoved him off the bed.

There was a kind of nice thud that filled the room for a minute. The Master sighed as a lovely sound filled his ears instead of the drums. "Uhhhnnng…" the Doctor made a noise that rose up.

His head came up from the other side of the bed, hair an absolute mess. It was like there was a porcupine on his head. Then he slumped down against the wall, needing a minute to think about what had happened last night. He held his head in his hand. The events were relayed, remembering them each and they slowly became clearer and clearer.

He felt much better now, remembering how just five hours ago he had been an emotional wreck. The Master had been crying…he had to pause there. The Master had been crying. He ran that sentence one more time. It still didn't sound quite right, but it did make sense. Before that, the Master kissed him. It was so…wonderful. _Wonderful_.

The Doctor was wondering how to approach the Master this morning. Playful? Sentimental? How would _he _react? Was he still sad? Would he dismiss the entire evening? As much as he wanted to make the first inquiry or step, he though that it would be best if he just waited until the Master spoke up. So, the Doctor gathered himself, realizing the Master had to have been awake to push him off the bedside, and walked to the door.

"Doctor." The Master spoke, "Get me some pancakes."

He couldn't help but smile an odd smile at the request. "If you'll eat them."

"You'll serve them to me."

The Doctor's odd little smile became a sweet little smile. He felt relieved; something had been shifted last night at least a tiny bit. "If that's what you wish." He couldn't help but grin to himself, using the word wish.

The kitchen seemed empty, more so than it had ever been. Maybe because he had just been in a bedroom with another person for the first time in a very long one. The lack of another presence seemed familiar, but sadly so.

The Doctor went to work, thinking about how much he really did enjoy cooking and that possibly he could have called himself 'The Chef' instead. No, that would be stupid. But comical!

He made them from scratch, using flour, eggs and other ingredients instead of using the box contents. In about a half an hour, he had a plate piled high with flapjacks. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt the need to do a good job for the Master, either out of his own pride to impress him or just as an attempt to please him. He wasn't sure which but knew that no matter what, the Master wasn't going to be amazed by the short stack.

Not caring, he took a fork, a knife, a napkin and put a little pat of butter on top and headed down the hallway.

"What took you so long?" The Master said angrily. He was sitting up in bed with his hands, as expected, behind his back. It really couldn't have been comfortable.

"I made them from scratch, you could at least say thanks."

"Thanks for holding me captive like a monkey in a cage."

"My pleasure." He said flatly. "But I'll have you know, no monkey in my box is getting a breakfast other than bananas."

"So that's all you eat?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. Do you want these pancakes or not?"

"Not particularly if you keep jabbering on. You're ruining my appetite." The Master said smugly. The Doctor was beginning to get fed up. Last night he'd thought there was a breakthrough. It didn't seem that way now and if anything, the Doctor felt he was being too light on the Master. He wouldn't be bossed around in his own Tardis, the Master's ego was already bigger on the inside _and_ the out.

The Doctor gave him a glare, and he just smirked back. The Doctor realized that showing the Master he was annoyed made him snotty and feel somewhat superior. The Doctor didn't want this, he wanted them both to be equals. That was what they were, after all. Two spirits of a same kin. Although kin was not the right word for their relationship at all.

The Doctor set the platter down on the table. "You're going to have to come over here. I can't balance this plate on a wobbly bedspread."

"Don't tell me what to do, Doctor."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Unlock these stupid handcuffs!"

"Well I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you're probably going to do something other than eating pancakes with your hands." The Doctor exclaimed.

The Master kind of stared at him half disgusted. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do with my hands…?"

The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut and put his head in his hand. "I didn't mean it that way, I meant…never mind." The Master laughed on the inside about how uncomfortable he had just made the Doctor. "I don't want you to kill me." The Doctor wanted it to come off sounded like a joke, but somehow the words came off sad.

The Master gave out a small, humorless laugh, although he didn't respond further.

The comment went nowhere except for putting a dark silence in the room. "Well, I have a suggestion." The Doctor said, breaking the silence rather awkwardly. "You can sit there, while I cut the pancakes and bring them over."

A quick pause was present as the Master considered this. He hated to comply with anything the Doctor suggested. But, he found a way. "Get me another pillow, then you can have the privilege of serving me."

"No, I'm not getting you any more pillows right now."

"Then I won't eat." The Doctor let out a long sigh. He had seriously thought they had made progress.

* * *

><p>Alrighty, how was that? Sorry to keep all you waiting, I've been working on another DoctorMaster fic that's kind of a roles reversed type of thing. It's called 'You're what I want' in case you're interested. Did you like this?


	8. To Free

It took about a half hour of coaxing to get the Master to eat. The Doctor didn't want him to go hungry, for all he knew, the Master's hunger could have been what caused him to go haywire last night and bawl. The idea of the Master crying still did not sound quite right in his head.

The empty platter of pancakes rested on the floor. The Master sat cross legged - straight backed on the low bed, the Doctor leaned against the wall from the floor. The Master had finally agreed to let the Doctor feed him _if _he kneeled on the floor before him. The Doctor wasn't quite sure if he should have let that happen, but if it filled the Master's stomach with something substantive, he would pay the mild embarrassment that came from playing nursemaid.

"Do you really want those handcuffs off?" The Doctor asked. He had another idea that might work better.

"What do you think, you idiot?" The Master snapped.

The Doctor smiled in a melancholic sort of way. "You're not going to get them off with an attitude like that." He sat up and walked around to the other side of the bed that wasn't fully occupied by the Master. The Master saw him looking to sit down and immediately sprawled out on the bed, eyes looking challengingly up. He was going to have to be difficult, wasn't he?

Instead of being totally annoyed, the Doctor thought he'd roll with it and maybe have a bit of fun anyway. Gently, he ran a hand through the Master's soft brown hair. The Master jerked away and gave the Doctor a long glare. "Well, when you roll out over the bed like a dog, I presume you want me to pet you."

Another glare. "I am not a bloody dog." The Doctor reached for his tummy, to which the Master recoiled into a partial ball. "Get away from me, you git."

The Doctor couldn't help but feel entertained, despite the insults he was receiving. "You're a puppy then?" He climbed onto the bed and ran a hand down the Master's back as if it were fuzzy.

"Shut up." The Master wouldn't admit it in a million lightyears, but he enjoyed the sensation as he got a chill down his spin from the gentle touch.

"You look a bit like a puppy." The Doctor was grinning fully now, hand moving up to behind the Master's ear. He attempted to bite the Doctor's hand, despite internally wanted to _not _resist (and hating every second of it). The Doctor chuckled a bit. The Doctor, at that moment, resolved not to let the Master's anger or antics sour him. However he did realize, in the Master's current state, this was probably very degrading. So instead of continuing it, he just scooped up the Master from behind and brought him in, wrapping his arms around him.

"Let go of me." The Master said harshly, but he didn't struggle. The Doctor held him loosely enough that he could have gotten away if he wanted to. He leaned back against the wall, and to his incredible surprise, the Master leaned back with him. The Doctor decided not to go any further, despite his terrible urge to pet the Master or tighten his embrace. The Master didn't speak, so the Doctor figured it was his turn.

"Do you want me to take off these handcuffs?" He asked genuinely, allowing seriousness to enter the conversation.

The Master didn't respond for a long moment. "Then what's the gambit?"

"Huh?"

"You want me to believe that you're just going to take them off all together, without a catch?" The Master laughed. "I know you well enough to know you can be one hell of a liar, Doctor."

The Doctor bit his cheek. "I wasn't trying to lie – I'm not just going to take them off altogether. I…had a couple other things in mind as alternative."

"And what were they?" The Master spat boredly.

"Well, I don't know how much you're going to like any of them. I don't."

"You didn't answer my question, Doctor."

The Doctor sighed. He really hated all of the choices that would serve as the Master's new restraints. "There's a pulse chip, I'd probably install it to the back of your neck. It'd send electronic shocks to different parts of your body, depending on the setting and what you're doing."

"I don't suppose I'd have the control panel." The Master rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunately, no. I've also got a muscle-deactivator strap that would also go on your neck. It's the most painless." And humane. However the Doctor wasn't sure if it was this one that he hated the most. There was something profoundly disturbing about having your muscles simply shut down and collapsing to the ground in a cross-legged position against your will. "It's kind of like an anesthetic."

"What else do you have in your magic bag of detainment?" The Master grumbled passively.

"Not much else – most of it involves shocking…I'd rather not use anything particularly painful on you…"

"Is it because you think I'm weak?" He accused.

"No, Master." He paused and looked at the man sitting in his lap. "It's because I don't want to hurt you." The Doctor put gently.

"Well I want to hurt _you_."

"Unfortunately. If you didn't, then you wouldn't have to _have _this restraint, would you?"

"Doctor, I don't doubt your odd fetishes enough to believe this is purely out of safety." The Master grinned darkly.

"That's…very creepy, Master."

"So which one of your devices are you going to force on me?" He asked, looking over his shoulder despondently.

"I was going to let you choose. I hate all of them equally." The Doctor replied sadly. The cell was silent besides breath. There was a great comfort in the Master allowing the Doctor to hold him. Every moment of it. But that didn't help the Doctor from feeling immense guilt. "I'm sorry." He said quietly.

"Sorry?" The Master spat. "If you were sorry you wouldn't lock me up in a godforsaken cage!"

"I'm trying to protect you…" The Doctor said, feeling hurt.

"Well if you're trying to protect me like I'm your little doggy than the owner should choose the setting for the collar round my neck!" The Master sat up and awkwardly turned around to face him. "Go on. Put the collar on, yeh? Right here?" The Master lifted up his chin. When the Doctor only looked at him with sad eyes did he lower his head.

The Doctor felt guilty, now, with the Master's many jabs and regretting how he'd played around with him as if he had been a dog. For the Master, being in such a vulnerable position now, that must have struck him.

"Master," he tried again, quietly. "I'd really rather you pick the device."

The Master stared at him with tired, angry eyes. He didn't want to comply with the Doctor. He didn't want any of the methods – he wanted his wrists unbound. But as overwhelmed as he was, he did understand the Doctor's reasoning. If their roles were reversed, he would have the most painful method of restraint inside the Doctor's veins. But he had to admit that that was more out of his own sadism than protection.

"Give me the collar, since I'm a dog to you." He spat forward, sending saliva on to the Doctor's cheek. He wiped it off without making a scene.

"Master, I'd rather –"

"So when your _dog _wants to be put on a lead you tell him no? You ask your pet to make a decision but no, he can't even be trusted for that?"

"No. Master – alright. I'll go fetch the collar..."

They looked at each other for a long while. The Doctor hadn't wanted him to pick that. He didn't want the Master to be in pain at any point. However he knew why the Master had chosen that method. Because the pain, in some obscure way, gave him a chance to prove himself somehow, as if he were saying, "I can take the pain. I am not weak". He also knew that every time the Doctor would come in, it would serve as another reminder of his 'misery'. The Master could just see the guilt seeping through his eyelids and it made him smirk.

"Go on. Get my collar." He commanded. The Doctor got up and left, leaving the Master all alone.

The Master was tired. His eyes drooped the second the Doctor left. His sleep had been riddled with dark thoughts that kept him from rest. Even though the Doctor's arm around him the night before had calmed the sound of the drums, his manacles disallowed him from comfort. He was only semi-aware that he'd made his way forward on the bed and leaned up against the wall, out of it.

When the Doctor returned, he didn't hold a collar of any kind. He just had a small box that looked a bit like a first aid kid and, of course, his sonic. He turned the latch and the Master shook awake, not wanted to appear tired. "It's alright." The Doctor said, "You can go back to sleep – I'd rather you get some rest."

"No!" The Master snarled, louder than he'd anticipated. "No. Why haven't you got the collar?" Although he didn't want it to, genuine curiosity crept into his voice.

"I didn't want you to have that. I don't want you to have any physical constraints, okay?"

The Master said nothing more, but gave him a stare that spoke too many things.

The Doctor sat down next to him and opened the case. The Master turned away from him, leaving the back of his neck exposed. The Doctor brushed his fingers against the tip of his spine. "I need to put it here."

The Master only grunted in a response. The Doctor found a tube of what could only be described as ointment and rubbed it gently on the Master's neck. "This'll numb the pain."

"I don't need an anesthetic."

"Yes you do." The Doctor blew on it gently and watched the Master give a barely noticeable shiver. "Tell me if it hurts at all."

The Doctor had only made a couple small incisions before placing the tiny chip inside his skin. He noticed the Master's muscles tense up, but he did not speak or say anything to signify the pain. Quickly, the Doctor sealed it back up with a gel that accelerated the white blood cell count, helping the healing process go faster.

"Master?" he asked when he noticed him dozing off.

He jumpstarted. "Yeh? What?"

"I'm going to take off your handcuffs now."

"You'd be so kind as to do that?" he muttered. The Doctor drew out his sonic and unlatched the lock. The cuffs fell away and the Master's hands hung limply as if they didn't know what to do with themselves. They stayed there for a second too long – the Doctor took them gently in his (which were slightly larger and thinner), and set them gently forward into the Master's lap, in the motion the Doctor brought his own arms around the Master. With the Doctor's arms still present, the Master rubbed his wrists, trying to usher life back into them. Weakly, he pushed the Doctor's hands away.

"You seem a bit tired." The Doctor narrated the obvious.

The Master just shot him a glance. "Leave."

The Doctor looked at him with a mix of emotions, suddenly feeling a bit more wary of this man, now that he had no handcuffs on – no restraints. "Just holler if you need anything." The Doctor felt the urge to kiss his forehead or at the very least touch him, but he knew that it simply wouldn't be appropriate now. Instead he got up and went to the door but he stood there for a moment.

"Get out." The Master snarled.

"No need for harsh tones, Master." The Doctor said almost sadly before he left the room, carefully locking the door behind him.


End file.
